


Talk to Me

by romantichopelessly



Series: BOTWOT [4]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Blood, Crying, Cussing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Foster Care, Intrusive Thoughts, Other, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Talk about death and decay, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romantichopelessly/pseuds/romantichopelessly
Summary: Virgil doesn’t trust his new guardian. He doesn’t trust much of anyone really. But then again, who does these days? Especially when so many figures from his past kept showing up.
Relationships: Platonic TDLAMPR
Series: BOTWOT [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658857
Comments: 50
Kudos: 186





	1. Don't Have to be a Prodigy to be Unique

**Author's Note:**

> This part of the story actually takes place before part 7 (Tired and Broken Things), but chapter 2 will take place after part 7

The world passed by in a blur as Virgil stared out the window of Thomas’s car, his eyes unfocused. The trees and sky were a smear of green and blue and gray. Music played low in Virgil’s headphones but he wasn’t even processing it. Today was not even a day that _Evanescence_ could save.

Today, dreadfully, was Virgil’s first day back at school after moving in with Thomas. All of their first days back, really, but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to worry about any of Thomas’s other foster kids when anxiety was gnawing at the pit of his stomach like a rabid dog after a bone.

Not only was Virgil once again switching schools mid-semester, but he was going back to Chesterfield School District for the first time in three years. For the first time since he entered the system and began hopping homes, hopping counties, and hopping schools.

He didn’t know why he was so freaked out about this. He wasn’t even sure that anyone would remember him. Why would they? He was one kid of hundreds that had gone to that school. He wasn’t exactly remarkable, either. It wasn’t like he won any awards or even had any friends.

Or, he hadn’t had _many_ friends.

Virgil’s fingernails dug into his arm underneath the sleeve of his purple patched hoodie, grounding himself.

He could only hope that there was no one there to remember him. He could only hope that three years was long enough for the then twelve and thirteen year olds to forget their angsty classmate and the small town media frenzy that had surrounded him for about three months.

Virgil’s fingers dug into his skin more fiercely. He tried unsuccessfully to focus on either the music rumbling in his ears or the slowing scenery passing him by separated only by a few centimeters of glass and the door to Thomas’s raging metal death trap.

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil saw a flash of strawberry blond as Patton turned in his seat--shotgun, of course, he was the oldest--to face Virgil. Virgil looked up wearily. 

“--re almost there!” Virgil heard through his headphones. Virgil’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

He reached up and slipped his headphones down to rest around his neck. It was only respectful, and though Virgil didn’t see much worth in respect right now, he didn’t want to make an enemy of a seventeen year old only a few days into living with him.

Reminding himself to actually respond, Virgil nodded back at Patton. Patton smiled encouragingly. 

It felt like Virgil didn’t have time to blink before Thomas’s car was pulling into the parking lot of Chesterfield High School.

Virgil had never actually gotten to attend Chesterfield High School. When he left this school district he had been only twelve years old. A seventh grader.

It had been three years since then. No one would remember him.

Virgil took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the car. He was sure that Thomas was saying something from the driver’s seat. Probably some sappy pep talk for the two highschoolers, but Virgil really couldn’t bring himself to listen to anything other than the punk rock blasting from his headphones that had somehow found their way back onto his head.

Just straight ahead, Virgil.

One foot in front of the other.

One breath at a time.

Virgil tried his best not to sync his breathing with his music. That would definitely lead to a panic attack.

And he could _not_ have one of those on a first day at a different school. Whether he had history there or not. In fact, it was probably even more important that he didn’t have a panic attack, lest someone see him and jog their memory about the scrawny seventh grader who used to have them all too often at school.

Virgil stuffed his hands into his pockets and marched towards the front doors of the high school. He could do this. He could stave off a panic attack and keep calm. As long as he had no distractions--

“Hey, Virgil, wait up!”

Patton’s voice was quite shrill for a seventeen year old boy. Virgil’s steps faltered, allowing for the other kid to catch up to him.

Patton’s smile was bright as he fell into step beside Virgil. He spoke loudly, uncaring of any attention that they would garner, so that Virgil could hear him over his music. “Thomas said that he hopes we have a good day!” Virgil couldn’t help but notice just how easily Patton called their guardian by his first name. As if he hadn’t a care in the world about where such disrespect could get him were Thomas any other guardian. 

“Isn’t it great that we’re going to school together? I mean, I know that you’re a sophomore and I’m a junior, but we can still hang out! Maybe we can eat lunch together, or walk to some classes together!” 

Virgil’s hand balled into a fist in his pocket. Nothing against Patton, but he really could talk a guy’s ear off. Virgil could take it, though. Was he overstimulated and about to snap right now? Absolutely. Was he about to tell Patton to screw off and leave him alone? Absolutely not. Current chipper attitude aside, Virgil had to share a room with this guy for the foreseeable future. He was _not_ about to tick him off.

“Maybe so, Patton.” Virgil managed to choke out, wincing as he pushed his headphones down to rest around his neck once again and reluctantly paused his music. Patton skipped ahead of him a few steps and held open the front doors to the school.

Virgil started another round of measured breathing as the two of them stepped into the building and Patton started to chatter about something else that he was looking forward to at this school. Completely ignoring the fact that it was just the beginning of the final quarter of the school year.

That, pardon the language, was exactly when shit hit the fan, and Virgil’s day tumbled downhill, from bad to worse.

“Virgil?”

The voice rang out in the empty front lobby-- _the rest of the students must have been in the cafeteria, and really, Virgil had never wished more for a large crowd in his life_ \--soft and confused. Almost filled with wonder. As if the speaker couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Virgil couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t make his voice work. He turned slowly, pivoting on his heel, and stared across the hallway, his gray blue eyes uncomfortably meeting a pair of chocolate brown through his bangs.

“Oh.” Patton almost sounded a bit dejected. That tone was quickly corrected, though, Patton’s ever present sunshine returning. “Virgil, you didn’t tell me that you knew anyone here.”

Virgil didn’t know what to do. His feet were rooted to the ground and his breath was frozen in his chest. It was like breathing in shards of ice.

The other teen turned their bewildered expression to Patton, dark eyebrows furrowed deeply. “I- I’m Elliott. I- Virgil and I were friends- Virgil-”

It was as if a shock had been delivered directly to Virgil’s heart, jolting him out of his anxiety ridden stupor and bringing him flying back to the present moment and out of his own head.

“I don’t.” Virgil’s voice was gruff. Whether from misuse or the swell of emotion burning in the back of his throat he would never tell.

The other two both turned to look at him. Virgil turned his head, clenching his fist tighter in his pocket. He couldn’t bear to look either one of them in the eyes.

“Huh…?” Patton tilted his head.

“Virge-” Elliott tried.

“I don’t know anyone here, Patton. No one that I would ever want to talk to, anyway.”

If Virgil had been looking, he would have seen the way Elliott’s face dropped. The way that they slumped in on themselves, the same way that they had so many years ago when Virgil had first pushed them away. Perhaps Virgil would have felt bad, had he seen it.

Perhaps he would have been pleased to hurt them even a fraction of the way that they had hurt him with their betrayal.

But Virgil saw none of it, because he was already turning his back and walking away. He had no idea where he was going. School hadn’t even begun yet. He didn’t head in the direction of the front office like he should have, he didn’t try to find his first class on his own, he just started walking and kept going.

Virgil came back to himself to find himself in the bathroom. Probably the first one that he had stumbled upon in his stupor. All he had seen was red. All he could hear was the roaring in his ears. All he could remember was a blur of empty hallways and burning breaths. Spots danced before his eyes as he struggled to pull a breath in. 

He couldn’t _breathe_.

_Why couldn’t he breathe?_

Virgil collapsed back against the tiled wall, sliding down to the ground. He hoped to hell that no one else was here. He wouldn’t ever be able to live this down.

Fingers dug into his thighs, pressing so hard that he would probably end the day with a couple of bruises. Distantly, Virgil was aware that he was having a panic attack. He knew that he should start counting. Even his breaths. Use some sort of grounding exercise.

But all he could focus on was Elliott’s voice in the back of his mind.

Of all the people he could have run into from his time at Chesterfield.

A figure flickered at the edge of Virgil’s vision and he jerked back to look at it. Through the tears clouding his vision, he could make out the vague form of Patton, who was now crouching before him.

“-touch you?”

Virgil started to shake his head but faltered. He needed to snap out of this. Touch was grounding.

He nodded.

Patton placed a gentle hand on Virgil’s denim clad knee. “Breathe--me?” His voice swam in and out of Virgil’s perception.

Virgil sucked in a deep breath, but quickly released it. He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t get enough air in.

Patton started to tap a slow, steady rhythm on Virgil’s knee. Virgil practically melted with relief and began to try matching his breath to Patton’s pattern.

It took what felt like an eternity for the two teens sitting on the public school bathroom floor, but finally, Virgil came back to himself and began to breathe more regularly on his own. His vision swam into focus and Patton pulled his hand back to himself.

There was a moment of silence as they both just breathed in perfect sync.

“Can I ask what that was about?” Patton’s voice was soft, as it so often was. But for whatever reason, Virgil found the sound a bit more genuine this time. It made him want to trust the older teen a lot more than the bitterly half-fake, half-whatever smiles that Patton often sported ever did.

“Elliott.” Virgil felt sick. He hadn’t thought that he would ever say that name again. “Elliott was my- I used to go to this school. Before… Before I came into the system.”

Sympathy was written in the wrinkles of Patton’s furrowed brow. It was better than pity, so Virgil said nothing. “But you weren’t happy to see them?”

Virgil swallowed. He couldn’t manage to get down that pesky lump at the base of his throat. “They’re the reason I’m in the system.”

\----

** February, 2017 **

_“And my sister is taking me shopping next week to look for more things!” Elliott excitedly whispered. “I mean, I’m not going to start wearing dresses or anything--at least, not yet--but she said that it would be good to look for a new wardrobe anyway!”_

_Virgil smiled shakily. He was happy for his best friend. Really, he was. He just couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Elliott’s family was so cool with their coming out._

_“That’s great, Elliott.” Virgil offered. And he meant it. He was so happy for his friend and their growth. He could easily see the way that their face glowed today with pride and joy. It was a sharp contrast from his friend’s usual quiet demeanor, and he couldn’t be prouder for them._

_He didn’t know why he had to keep telling himself that._

_“I’m happy for you.”_

_Elliott’s cheeks tinged pink and they grinned, the messily applied eyeliner that they were wearing wrinkling with their genuine smile. “Thanks, Virge. I really couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. Honestly I half expected for my dad to freak out, but it seems like he’s more concerned about my math grades than not having two sons anymore.”_

_Virgil tried to keep from grimacing._

_He had been terrified for Elliott last night when they had texted to say that they were planning to come out. He had spent the whole night attached to his phone, regardless of how upset his mother had gotten, filled with anxious energy and refreshing every messaging app he had every ten seconds. He had gotten punished for his distractedness, of course, but it had been worth all of it when he had seen Elliott walk into their english class that morning wearing a knee-length skirt over their jeans and a grin wider than any Virgil had ever seen._

_That didn’t mean that he didn’t wish that they had texted him before then._

_“I mean he could have really told me off, or lost it, or I don’t even know!”_

_Virgil rubbed his hands over his wrist. A nervous habit of his. “Yeah. I totally get having strict parents.” He looked back out to the parking lot of the middle school._

_“Yeah.” Elliott’s voice had mellowed out, their excitement wearing off as they watched their best friend. Virgil was rubbing at his wrist again, and Elliott could see as the sleeve of Virgil’s hoodie shifted a few bruises blooming on the pale skin of his forearm. Worry niggled at the back of his mind. “How were your parents yesterday, anyway? I mean, why did they not pick you up from the showcase?”_

_Last night had also been his and Elliott’s art class’s annual showcase. Virgil had stayed after school to help set up for the event with their art teacher, and by the time that it was over, he was still there cleaning up when Elliott’s parents said that they had to go in time for dinner._

_“They did.” Virgil shrugged. “It just took a while. They’re pretty busy, and all.”_

_Elliott nodded. They knew that. Virgil had probably told them that a thousand times on a thousand different occasions. But lately, Virgil’s excuses like that, though always even toned and not concerning alone, had been bothering them more and more._

_It was like there was something that Elliott couldn’t quite see. Something going on with their friend that they couldn’t quite understand._

_They shook their head and leaned over to bump shoulders with Virgil. They shouldn’t worry so much. Their dad always said so. Virgil would tell them if something was up. “As long as you’re okay, dude.”_

_Virgil didn’t get a chance to respond, though, because just then Elliott’s brother’s car rolled into the parking lot._

_Elliott stood and grabbed their things. Virgil watched silently from his perch on the brick wall that surrounded the front gardens. Elliott smiled brightly. “See you later, Virge.” He waved silently as they walked off in the direction of their brother’s car, leaving Virgil staring after them._

_Elliott just hoped that Virgil’s parents would pick him up soon._

\----

Thomas sighed.

It was the kids’ first day back at school, and somehow this morning had been even more stressful than the very first morning that they had moved in. There had been the rush to get breakfast, the trip with a car full of kids, going from the elementary school to the high school (with a stop at the middle school in between), and then Thomas had had a mental schedule of errands to run that he, predictably, had immediately derailed by getting distracted in the grocery store. Which, yes, he had to return to the grocery store because somehow in that first trip with the kids he had managed to forget a few staples like buttermilk and Cheez-its. Thomas had then run to fill out some more paperwork at the agency, which had taken far longer than he anticipated.

And despite the chaotic day that he was having, and despite the fact that it was only 2p.m. at that point, Thomas found that he really did miss the kids.

He couldn’t bear to think of the fact that his house was currently empty, and he found himself wondering about them. How were Roman and Remus adjusting to a new school? Were they getting along with other students and their teacher? How was Logan doing, a year young for eighth grade? Was Dee helping him out? Were Patton and Virgil sticking together at the high school?

Before he could worry himself too much, Thomas decided that a day full of errands and free of children meant a trip to a coffee shop. Thomas knew that he should probably get a real lunch, but really all he wanted was a too sugary frappuccino with whipped cream and maybe even a cookie. 

Since he was on the far side of town, Thomas found himself pulling into the parking lot of an unfamiliar coffee shop. Not that Thomas was very familiar with any of the coffee shops in his area, what with being an introvert who much preferred coffee made from a little pod in his kitchen over human interaction.

Thomas parked his car and climbed out, all too aware of the fact that he looked like a frazzled mess in a rainbow striped t-shirt.

As he stepped into the little shop, Thomas opened his phone and began checking his email, barely even paying attention to the ding of the little bell announcing his entrance to the employees.

There were a few messages from his team and YouTube that he marked for later. He then scrolled through his spam folder in search of anything from the agency that he needed to take care of. He was so distracted by his searching that he didn’t notice as he moved up with the line to the counter on autopilot. He didn’t even notice that he had reached the register until someone cleared their throat at him.

Thomas looked up, startled, only to meet the eyes of a rather stern looking barista.

A rather cute stern looking barista.

Thomas quickly put his phone into his pocket. He must have been staring at his phone rather intensely before, because the barista raised one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows at the motion. Thomas smiled weakly in response, feeling suddenly awkward. Something like recognition flashed in the barista’s eyes and Thomas felt his stomach fill with dread. He really didn’t want to have to deal with being recognized right now.

However, the flash of recognition quickly melted away as soon as it had appeared, and the cute barista leaned over the bar and smiled charmingly. “Well, hello there, sweetheart. What can I get you today?”

The dread in Thomas’s stomach quickly turned into butterflies. He could feel the heat on his cheeks blooming. “Um… A mocha frappuccino, please. And a chocolate chip cookie?”

The barista’s smile widened and he leaned back, clicking in the order on the register. Thomas found his eyes wandering down to the cute barista’s chest. There was no nametag. 

“Alright. Will that be all for you, handsome?” The barista smiled once again, the corners of his deep, coffee brown eyes crinkling.

Thomas hadn’t been flirted with in a long time. Sure, fans would leave comments under his posts all the time, but nothing as direct and… open as this. It was truly flattering.

“Yep!” Thomas winced inwardly. Why did he always turn into a complete disaster in these sorts of situations? He handed over his card for the barista to swipe.

The barista chuckled, rang him up, and handed Thomas back his card. “Head on over to the pick-up bar, and I’ll be right with you, hon.” And with that, the coffee shop employee winked and turned around to go talk to his coworker.

Thomas blinked, a little bit befuddled by the whole interaction. He turned to look over his shoulder, only to see that he had been the last person in the short line. At least now the cute barista completely leaving the register made sense. His flirtations were another thing, though.

As Thomas made his way over to the pick-up bar he ran the interaction over in his mind. It was just a cute barista. He really needed to pull himself together. He was a guardian now, he couldn’t be having a gay meltdown every time he went out in public and saw a guy with pretty eyes. 

He didn’t even know the guy’s name.

Thomas took a deep breath and tried to push any and all gay thoughts to the back of his mind. He was already stressed and overworked, he didn’t need to take on a new crush right now.

That didn’t mean that he could pull his eyes away from the guy as he walked around behind the counter, mixing up Thomas’s drink. Dark brown, almost black hair, clipped back by a sparkly green barrette, perfectly framed the guy’s face. He was pretty tall too, and younger than Thomas, it looked.

Thomas watched as the guy looked up and smiled winningly--almost teasingly--at him. Thomas thankfully found it in himself to smile back in a way that he hoped seemed more polite than hopelessly gay.

The barista returned to his work and it was only a few more moments before he was striding over to the pick up bar, Thomas’s purchases in hand.

“One mocha frappuccino and chocolate chip cookie for one cute cookie.” The barista quipped. Thomas thanked him, only stumbling over his words once in response to the flirting, and took his drink and snack.

“Say.” The barista drawled, casually conversational as Thomas grabbed a straw from the container on the bar. “You look familiar, and I never forget a pretty face. Have I seen you somewhere?”

Thomas snorted. In a way that was probably super unattractive. This guy really did lay it on thick. “Maybe.” He shrugged, modestly, and took a sip of his drink. “I do have a YouTube channel. And I’m an actor.”

The barista snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I saw you in that role recently!”

Thomas paused, confused. “What role?”

“The man of my dreams.”

That actually startled a laugh from Thomas, his hand coming up to cover his mouth to keep from spewing cold coffee all over the cute guy. “Oh, come on, that was cheesy.”

The guy shrugged, looking mighty pleased with himself. “What can I say, I get pretty cheesy with cute and talented customers.”

Thomas almost rolled his eyes. He might have if he weren’t a little bit charmed. “So I’m not the only one you do this with?”

“Oh, hon, no. But that just means I’m experienced.” The barista grinned. “Experienced enough to get your name, I hope?”

Thomas smiled back. “Thomas. Uh- Sanders.”

That something from before, that Thomas had thought was recognition, flashed in the barista’s eyes again. “Cute name. I’ll be sure to check you out online.”

“And your name?” Thomas only asked out of politeness, of course.

“You can call me Jeremy.” The barista, Jeremy, smiled. Although his smile did seem a bit more stiff this time. Thomas decided to shake it off.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Jeremy, but I do have a few more errands to run today, so I should get going.” 

“Wait!” Thomas was just stepping away when Jeremy called out, sounding a bit more desperate than was probably necessary. Thomas froze and looked at him with shock and confusion. “I- I didn’t give you my number yet, sweetheart.” And just like that, with only one stutter, the barista’s smooth talking was back, glossing over whatever had just occurred.

Thomas was too busy wondering what was going on to resist at all when Jeremy reached over, plucking a marker from the pocket of his apron and writing seven digits across the paper bag that held Thomas’s cookie.

Jeremy smiled brightly and pushed the cookie back across the counter. “Call me.”

And just like that, he was turning back to his work, and Thomas was leaving the coffee shop, much more bewildered with how this day had gone than ever.

\----

Virgil ran his fingers over the messily sewn seams of his jacket.

It was very obviously a homemade garment. Anyone who looked at it could tell. There was very little professionalism in the stark white thread that attached the purple plaid patches to the cheap black hoodie.

Part of Virgil wondered if the odd garment was some sort of shield to him. He had had it for about two years now, and he wore it more days than not. It was sort of like a badge. Something that separated him from everyone else in a way that he could control. A way that wasn’t parents in prison or foster siblings who tolerated him at best.

Though, according to Patton that morning, Virgil was a little bit more than tolerated by his older roommate.

It was a novel feeling.

Virgil wanted to hold onto it a little bit longer.

Just then the door to his and Patton’s room creaked open. Virgil looked up, fully expecting to see either Patton or Thomas, coming to see how he was doing after the first day back at school. He was shocked when the face that peaked around the corner belonged to neither of them.

Dee peered into the room, the same enigmatic expression on his face as always. 

Virgil watched with a raised eyebrow as the thirteen year old stepped into the room. While he hadn’t been expecting the kid, Virgil certainly wasn’t disturbed by Dee or his presence. He had known him well enough when they had shared a foster home before that he knew how the kid ticked, and though he could annoy the hell out of Virgil, he definitely didn’t scare him.

Dee walked to the center of the room and sat himself down on the edge of Patton’s bed, facing Virgil.

Virgil tried very hard not to let his mild irritation at the boy’s audacity show.

The two boys stared at one another. Virgil refused to be the first one to speak. He had already had such a long day between the stress of being at school once again and what could only be described as a mental breakdown over just seeing his ex best friend for the first time in years. He was not about to bend to the will of a thirteen year old.

Dee obviously caught onto this, because he was the first to break the silence. “Virgil.”

“Truman.” Virgil responded, coolly. Dee was just a nickname, and though Virgil respected the kid’s right to be called what he wanted, Virgil also respected his own right to be stubborn from time to time.

Dee looked away, running his fingers over the blanket beneath him. Patton’s blanket. Virgil probably would have cared less had Patton not helped him that morning during his panic attack.

“So what’s it like rooming with the human embodiment of sunshine and bubbles? And you go to school with him too, how’s that?” Dee’s voice was high and level. He obviously expected for Virgil to agree with him.

He wanted to trash on Patton, and Virgil really did not want to deal with that.

Virgil just watched him, far too unimpressed and far too exhausted with how this day had gone to engage in Dee’s antics.

“What do you want, Dee?”

Dee tensed up. Virgil would have felt bad had he not already been so on edge.

“I just wanted to talk. Is that a crime now?”

“It is if you’re going to be a little brat about it.” Virgil knew. He _knew_ that he was being immature, and selfish, and downright mean. He knew that Dee didn’t deserve it, no matter how much he bitched at Thomas or talked about Patton behind his back. When it came down to it, Dee was only thirteen and didn’t really know how to deal with his emotions. Any other time, Virgil would have been at least a little bit more understanding and helpful.

But right now, he was on the verge of yet another panic attack, and he did not want Dee to be around to see it.

Dee’s face darkened and he sat up straighter. On guard. Anxiety swirled in Virgil’s gut. “What is _your_ issue? Are you going to defend Mr. Rainbows too? You don’t owe them anything, Virgil.”

“I don’t owe you anything either.” Virgil bit back, his shoulders raised to his ears. He couldn’t do this today. “Get out.”

Dee blinked, obviously shocked by Virgil’s bluntness. “You can’t be serious-”

“Get out, Dee.” Virgil lowered his voice and gestured angrily towards the door. He didn’t make a move to back up his tone with action, but he didn’t have to, Dee was already turning tail and leaving without so much as a vengeful glance backwards.

\----

** September, 2016 **

_Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, balling his fists into his black checkered hoodie. His hood was already pulled up over his head, obscuring his face from view even more as he forced it down between his knees._

_Not that anyone could see it anyway, not in the dark of the closet._

_Outside of the door he could hear yelling. His mother was upset again. When wasn’t she, really?_

_Virgil tried to focus. Like he had been taught._

_Five things that he could see._

_Nothing. He couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. He couldn’t even see his own fingers if he had waved them in front of his face._

_No._

_Virgil gasped in a shallow breath, refocusing his attention._

_The light. Under the door. He could see that._

_The tips of his purple shoelaces illuminated just the slightest bit by that light._

_That was only two things. Did it matter? He couldn’t remember._

_He wished that he would just pass out already. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had ever passed out from lack of oxygen during a panic attack. It was much better than sitting here in the dark pretending that he could focus on some stupid grounding technique while his parents bitched about how useless he was on the other side of the door._

_Hands were fisted in his hair. His hands. Virgil’s breathing quickened again. He could still smell the bleach just outside the door. The bleach that he had spilled all over the carpet like a complete idiot, what kind of a moron was he, he couldn’t just do one single thing right, Virgil was such a_ dumbass--

_If there had been any light, Virgil would have seen his vision darkening around the edges. He could feel himself going lightheaded. Were his eyes open, he would have been able to see the spots floating in front of his eyes. He felt the blood rushing from his brain._

_Virgil slumped back against the wall. His head was spinning too much to think anymore._

\----

Thomas’s phone sat at the end of the kitchen counter, the black phone case unassuming and innocent against the granite of the counter.

Thomas himself had just finished cleaning up after dinner, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He was sure that the kids were all occupied. Roman and Remus had gone to the living room after dinner, chattering about some police show that they had seen--Thomas would definitely have to monitor those two’s TV time, because it was becoming increasingly obvious that none of the foster parents before him had thought to do so--and Logan and Virgil had followed after them.

Thomas had, of course, noticed Virgil seeming a bit… down, but he wasn’t sure whether this was the kid’s regular after school blues or if something had really happened.

And though he was reluctant to admit it, Thomas wasn’t precisely sure how he was supposed to approach it if it were the latter.

So rather than follow those four into the living room, or try to approach Patton or Dee, Thomas was sitting at his own kitchen bar, staring at his own phone as if it were a ticking time bomb.

He was contemplating texting the barista.

He wasn’t going to call, of course, despite the fact that Jeremy had specifically asked for him to call him. For multiple reasons. One being that Thomas was a raging introvert who, at 30 years old, still hated making phone calls, and another being the fact that he definitely was _not_ going to make a flirtatious phone call while there were four kids in just the next room, and two teens somewhere else in the house.

Though it was probably part of the parenthood experience, Thomas was not ready to be bullied by middle schoolers. Or high schoolers. Or four foot tall probably demons maybe angels in little kids bodies.

So, like a true adult, Thomas was building an internal list of pros and cons and stewing in his own anxiety.

Until a miniature light bulb went off in his heart--not his head, that was too preoccupied with internal screaming--and Thomas was reaching for his phone and pulling up his and Joan’s messages.

**Thomas:** _I need help._

Not even ten seconds later, a reply illuminated Thomas’s screen.

**Joan:** _are the kids ok?_

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek. His heart swelled with pride and adoration for his best friend.

**Thomas:** _They’re fine. It’s about a guy._

**Joan:** _please tell me you aren’t planning a marriage along with the kids. i have no place in a picket fence fantasy, gay or not._

**Thomas:** _No marriage!!! I just… met someone._

**Joan:** _who?_

**Thomas:** _A barista. I’m thinking about texting him. But it feels… off._

**Joan:** _you mean selfish, don’t you?_

**Thomas:** _You know me too well. It’s just… the kids._

**Joan:** _will a text conversation really hurt them?_

**Thomas:** _No, but I don’t want to… divide my focus or anything. It’s too soon._

**Joan:** _yeah it better be, since i haven’t even gotten to hang out with them yet. just tell the guy that. if he’s any good he won’t care._

Thomas drummed his fingers against his thigh. Joan was right. He didn’t have to take any steps with Jeremy that he wasn’t ready for yet. He could just… Text the guy. Make friends. You could never have too many friends, right?

**Thomas:** _Thanks Joan! <3 I owe you one._

**Joan:** _yeah yeah just invite me to the wedding._

With that, Thomas backed out of his and Joan’s messages and started a new one, carefully inputting the number that Jeremy had given him at the coffee shop.

**Thomas:** _Hey. It’s Thomas. From the coffee shop._

Thomas tried to put his phone down. Really, he did. He didn’t know if Jeremy would be on his phone right now. Or if he would even reply.

Thomas kept refreshing the messages until a typing bubble popped up.

**Jeremy:** _Which coffee shop?_

A pit of anxiety formed in Thomas’s stomach. 

**Jeremy:** _Just kidding! Hi babe, thanks for texting. :P_

Thomas did not breathe a sigh of relief. He did not.

**Thomas:** _Thanks for giving me your number._

Thomas felt suddenly very out of his element. Was he doing this right? He wasn’t even sure if he knew how to flirt properly. Not that he wanted to flirt at this time. No. He needed to focus on the kids. So…

Thomas just didn’t know how to _converse_ properly.

**Jeremy:** _I couldn’t miss out on talking to you again, babe. ;)_

Thomas bit his lower lip. Yeah, he would have to let Jeremy in on the whole “not flirting” thing.

**Thomas:** _About that… I’m not really in the market for a relationship right now. I have a lot of family stuff going on at the moment. I was hoping we could still get to know each other, though? Be friends?_

As soon as Thomas sent the message, a typing bubble appeared. It quickly disappeared. Thomas squirmed in his seat. He felt like a high schooler again. The bubble appeared and reappeared a few more times. It was clear that Jeremy was trying to figure out what to say.

Thomas stared at his screen for a few more minutes, before deciding that he needed to do something. Whatever Jeremy had to say, it would always be there.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Thomas walked over to the living room to check on the kids.

From the doorway, Thomas could see Logan and Virgil sitting on the couch. Logan had a book in his lap, but he was not paying attention to it, and was instead talking to--or at?--the twins, who were sitting on the floor.

“I want to be the detective!” Roman was sitting back on his knees, his arms crossed as he glared up at his brother, completely ignoring whatever Logan had been saying.

Remus was pacing around in a circle in front of his twin. “But I wanna be the detective!”

Virgil was on his phone, scrolling mindlessly, and didn’t look up as he spoke. “Well if you’re both the detective, which one of you is going to be the dead body?” There was still a tension in his shoulders, Thomas noticed. One that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Remus gasped excitedly. “Yeah! We need a dead body!”

“I don’t want to be a dead body, though!” Roman fell dramatically back onto the carpet.

“Logan could be the dead body.” Virgil commented, sending a glance over to the other kid. 

Logan looked up, surprised. “Me?” Virgil shrugged back at him and nodded over to the twins.

Roman perked up. “Hey, yeah! Play with us, and then I don’t have to be the dead guy!”

Logan looked a bit apprehensive, but he was already putting his book aside, which made Thomas smile to himself. Logan looked back at Virgil, who was once again scrolling on his phone, before glancing up to see Thomas hovering in the doorway.

Thomas smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, nodding in the direction of the twins.

That seemed to be the reaction that Logan was waiting for, because then, as if Thomas had given him permission, Logan slid off of the couch to sit on the ground with the twins.

“Did you know,” Logan’s voice was hesitant as he began to speak, as though he was prepared to be interrupted, “that as the cells in a dead body decay, the body emits the residue out through the mouth and nose? It’s like snot but worse.” Logan adjusted his glasses, appearing as though he were lecturing a class full of college students rather than speaking to two morbidly fascinated seven year olds.

“Ewww!” Roman cried in a high pitched whine.

“Woah!” Remus exclaimed, leaning closer. “Tell me more about dead people things!”

Thomas must have been imagining things, because it looked distinctly as though Logan’s cheeks were pinkening under Roman and Remus’s attention. “Well, did you know that after a person dies, their muscles tighten up? It’s called _rigor mortis_ and I read about it in a biology book a while back-”

The twins watched with rapt attention as Logan continued to talk about human decay. Thomas watched on with no small amount of fondness as eventually, Roman started to push Logan back to lie down on the ground--as one playing the dead body should--and he and Remus circled Logan while the preteen continued to talk excitedly.

After a few minutes, Thomas looked up to Virgil. Virgil was not watching the frankly adorable scene between them.

Instead he was staring blankly at his now dark phone. His second hand twisting in and out of the hem of his hoodie.

Thomas could sense the anxiety attack immediately.

Slowly, the adult crossed the room, carefully stepping around the three kids playing detective. As Thomas approached Virgil, he made sure to stay in his line of sight, and reached out to gently place a hand on Virgil’s elbow.

Virgil stood without any more prompting, following Thomas silently out of the room, still staring ahead. Thomas felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. He had been in Virgil’s position on more than one occasion. Spacing out in the midst of a moment, anxiety overcoming his thoughts and freezing up his chest. 

Once in the hallway, Thomas looked around for any prying eyes. Seeing no one, he let go of Virgil’s elbow.

“Virgil? Can you hear me?”

Virgil nodded, though he was still obviously distant. He curled into himself.

Thomas had known that something was off today, and he felt awful for not talking to Virgil sooner than this. “Can you breathe with me, Virgil? Do you… want to talk about it?”

Virgil breathed in and out slowly. Thankfully, this was no panic attack. But Thomas knew a spiral when he saw one.

“It’s fine.” Virgil said, gruffly. “Just… Just a bad day at school.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure? I don’t… I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but you’ve just seemed off all day--or at least since you got back from school--and I want you to be able to talk to me about anything, so-”

“I said I’m fine, Thomas.” Virgil’s voice was still rough, and before Thomas could reply, he was shouldering past him, avoiding eye contact. 

Thomas floundered. “Virgil-”

But before he could come up with something actually productive to say, Virgil had disappeared up the stairs, most likely making a beeline directly for his room.

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He slumped back against the wall, watching the staircase. In the next room he could still hear soft giggles from the three youngest children.

Thomas dropped his face into his hands.

\----

** November, 2016 **

_Virgil bent over the kitchen sink, scrubbing mindlessly at the mess around the drain._

_The air reeked of bleach and other miscellaneous chemical cleaners, a concoction of scents that Virgil had become all too used to over the course of his life, since his parents had decided that he was much more useful as a housekeep than as a son._

_He could hear them._

_Three rooms over and screaming per usual. About him. Also per usual._

_He tried to tune it out. Really, he did. But it was impossible not to at least hear their shrill voices through the house’s impressively thin walls for the money that he knew his parents had._

_“I don’t know why you keep standing up for him!”_

_“Standing up for him?” His father’s voice boomed. Virgil scrubbed at the sink harder. “I am not standing up for him! You and I both know that kid isn’t worth shit! He has no life skills, no talents, he would just sit around on his phone all day if I didn’t have anything to say about it!”_

_“Oh so I do nothing? I parent him more than you ever will!”_

_Virgil distantly wished for his headphones. But they had taken those, of course. For what? He couldn’t quite tell. When they were yelling at him he may or may not have spaced out until they pushed the cleaning supplies into his hands._

_“I don’t know why we even had him, Angela!”_

_“You think I do? I would have happily stopped at one, Curtis!”_

_Virgil ducked his head down. Would his neck snap from bending so much? He pushed the morbid thought aside. He had to get this done, then he could go back up to his room. Maybe they would even give him his headphones back, and he could listen to that new album._

_A door slammed._

_Virgil winced._

_Maybe he should just count his blessings and curl up under his blankets until winter break arrived. It was always better when his brother was home._


	2. Doesn't Make You a Narcissist to Love Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been just over a month since the kids moved in with Thomas. It’s time for visitation day and check-ins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: anxiety, child abuse, emotional abuse, blood

Virgil stared into his locker, trying with all his might to think of something else. Anything else.

It was like his brain was working at half capacity. He had floated through the whole morning without a word. Numb. Not even Patton and Thomas tried to engage him in conversation. It seemed as though, after just over a month of cohabitating, the seven of them were starting to pick up on one another’s cues. It was… nice, almost. In a weird way.

Unless, of course, all of them had just been avoiding interaction this morning for the exact same reason. It was probably that.

Visitations were this weekend, and Thomas had just reminded them the night before.

Visitations brought a lot of anxiety. Like most things in Virgil’s life. Visitations meant that Virgil had to prepare to talk to the social workers about how he was doing, and what his guardian was like. It also meant that he had to face the fact that not many foster kids had anyone to visit them besides social workers and child therapists, so he should probably be grateful. In fact, Virgil was pretty sure that he and the twins were going to be the only ones this weekend with actual family members visiting. Which brought a lot of guilt as well as anxiety into Virgil’s day. He couldn’t be too excited about seeing his brother--not that he was in the first place--lest he make the other kids feel worse about the mess that was check-in weekends. But he also had to appear grateful, so that he didn’t upset any of the social workers or Thomas.

It was an awful balancing act and Virgil was already sick of it.

His head was swimming, thoughts of seeing his brother for the first time in over a month swirling in his gut and filling him with that distinct feeling that you get when you’re in the line for a roller coaster that you’ve never been on before. Except that Virgil had been on this roller coaster many a time before, he just happened to have an anxiety disorder, and really, why did he get so worked up about something that he had been doing basically once a month for three years now? He couldn’t even focus on what was in front of him, because his mind was too busy running a hundred miles an hour in the direction of ‘what-if’s and ‘maybe’s. _Maybe_ Virgil should just walk out of school and keep walking and not come back until next Monday and-

A soft cough from behind him pulled Virgil out of his spiral.

Virgil whirled around, his fingers digging into the metal of his locker door as his grip tightened. His heart rate slowed once he saw that it was only Elliott.

Only to pick up again once he remembered how his last confrontation with Elliott had gone. 

Virgil turned away, trying his best to make his expression hard and unreadable. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. His first instinct was to say something sarcastic, his words barbed in defense, but he remembered exactly how that had gone last time, and Virgil was already far too preoccupied to fall into another panic attack.

Virgil could tell that Elliott hadn’t moved. They hovered behind him, out of sight but not out of mind. Virgil could practically feel them faltering, carefully choosing what words to say.

He hated it.

He didn’t know if he was too distracted or too apathetic to care.

Who was he kidding, he definitely wasn’t apathetic.

“I’m sorry.” Elliott’s voice shook ever so slightly. Virgil could remember how their voice used to do that when they were at their most anxious. He could remember their voice wavering when they asked a teacher a question on Virgil’s behalf.

He could also remember how determined his ex-best friend could be.

He grabbed his pencil pouch and quietly shut his locker door.

Elliott took a hesitant step forward. “I really am, V. You- Our friendship meant a lot to me, and I- I didn’t want to- I didn’t _mean_ to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Virgil clenched his hands around his books. He really didn’t have time to worry about this on top of everything else today. He only had so much energy, and most of it had to go to building himself up in preparation for this weekend.

Elliott was continuing, and Virgil shook his head, trying to refocus. “I won’t say that I regret it, but I do regret hurting you, and I-”

“Stop.” Virgil’s voice was strained. He was tired. Exhausted, really. He could hear Elliott freeze behind him. He breathed out a sigh of resignation. “Look, I…” He trailed off, not quite sure of what to say. He had thought this conversation over many times before, when he was far more angry, and much less distracted. He had planned out perfectly what he would say to Elliott if he ever got the chance. None of that seemed right to say now.

Finally, Virgil turned back to Elliott. They were watching him with an odd cocktail of resignation, hope and sadness in their eyes. Their hands were knotted together in front of their black jean vest. A posture of pleading and humility.

“I don’t have the energy to deal with this today, okay? I just… leave it alone, Elliott.” Virgil wasn’t satisfied with that response. Not at all. But he just… didn’t have the energy to be any more diplomatic or caring, or even any more angry than that. 

He spared one last look at Elliott, who watched him with a disappointed resolve in their eyes, before he turned around and left for his morning class.

\----

**Late April, 2017**

_A few rooms over, a phone was ringing. The repetitive chime rang out every few seconds, the office just around the corner abuzz with activity. The clacking of keyboards as fingers flew over them filled the space in between. Outside, it was raining. Drizzling, really. A somber gray covering the sky and mist hanging just over the sidewalks outside of the building. All in all, it was a weird sort of peaceful. The kind that grated against your mind if you were on edge enough._

_The blue leather of the waiting room’s chairs was cracked underneath Virgil’s fingers. Peeling up and flaking. In the next room, someone was talking on the phone in a low tone._

_Virgil refused to take his hood off of his head, no matter how many “kind” social workers tried to coax him into doing so._

_He just wanted out of there._

_He didn’t think that he would ever truly feel this, but he wanted to go home. If only because the familiarity of his family yelling at him was more reliable than the unknown of sitting in the office of a Child Protective Services building as everyone stared at him._

_Virgil wondered if they had called his brother yet._

_Virgil knew that he should be more upset about what was happening. Even the receptionist in the next room over from him had looked at him like he was going to burst into tears at any second._

_Should he be crying? Should he be yelling and screaming and furious? Should he be numb? Should he be asking to see his parents? Should he be talking to the officer about everything that they had done since his brother left for college…?_

_He didn’t know._

_He wasn’t even sure that he knew how this had happened. How he had ended up here, with Child Protective Services._

_It had all happened so quickly._

_All that Virgil did know was that his best friend had betrayed him. They had done this. They were the reason that Virgil was here instead of sitting at home listening to music with one headphone off and reading a book._

_All Virgil knew was that he would never forgive Elliott for this._

\----

The café was busy today. Thomas was only mildly disappointed by this fact.

The past few days had been a whirlwind. Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about the kids’ visitations, and he knew that they couldn’t either. It was worrying him, to say the least.

Not only was he worried about the people from the social services office coming to check out Thomas and the state of his home once again, not only was he worried about what the kids would say about him and what living with him was like and whether they wanted to stay and whether he would even have these six kids living with him next week-

But he was also worried about how the kids would take seeing their relatives.

Roman and Remus had their mother visiting this weekend. All Thomas knew about the twins’ mother, Regina, was what had been in their file. How long ago she had lost custody, her frequent visits, and that she was still looking forward to regaining custody of her sons. And if that wasn’t reason enough to keep Thomas apprehensive, she was going to be meeting with them that very weekend, away from Thomas’s residence and out of his sight.

Goodness, he was so worried for those boys.

Virgil also had a personal visitor this weekend. His older brother, who Thomas was equally as apprehensive of, if only because there was so very little about him in Virgil’s file. All Thomas truly knew was that the older Williams brother hadn’t been able to adopt his brother due to financial issues. And while the optimist and empath in Thomas had his heart going out to the guy, the anxious mess in Thomas was worried about that dark look that had come over Virgil’s face last night when Thomas had first reminded them of visitations.

And, possibly most of all, Thomas was worried for Patton, Dee and Logan. The three kids that didn’t have any personal visitors. They were looking forward to a weekend of talks with therapists and social workers without the buffer of a family visit at the end. Honestly, Thomas didn’t know if they had it worse or better. And he probably never would.

 _Goodness_ , he was so privileged.

So, yeah, Thomas didn’t mind that the café was busy. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to properly talk to Jeremy had the barista been free, no matter how friendly they had gotten over the past few weeks.

“Hey, babes.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Thomas looked up, a slightly strained smile on his lips and his fingers tight on the handle of his mug that was still half full of caramel macchiato. “Hi, Jeremy.”

Jeremy slid into the open seat across from Thomas, sighing dramatically. “What a day! Babes, I almost quit thrice this morning.”

“Thrice?” Seemed like maybe Thomas did have a bit of friendly banter left in him. Even when exhausted and worried out of his mind.

“Mhm!” Jeremy leaned forward. “Now, what’s up with you?”

Thomas looked up, a bit surprised and a bit chagrined. “What do you mean?”

Jeremy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right? You’re obviously upset about something.”

“I wouldn’t say _upset_ …”

“Nervous. Sad. Worried. Looking like you’re about to upchuck on these floors--don’t, by the way, I hate mopping--whatever you want to say. Something’s up. What is it?”

Thomas sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. Only stalling a little bit. “I… You know those foster kids I told you about?”

Something flashed in Jeremy’s eyes. Thomas wasn’t looking closely enough to tell what exactly it was. “Yeah. What about ‘em? Sending them back already?”

Thomas’s head jerked up. “What? No! Never! I- No, of course not. It’s just that they have visitations this weekend. And check-ins.”

Jeremy nodded sagely, but something was off about him now. He leaned forward, as if more interested in what Thomas was saying than before. “Worried that they’ll find your weed stash?”

“What?!”

“Vape? Bit young for you, I thought, but-”

“ _No_! What-”

“Porn?”

“ _Jeremy_!”

“Well, if it’s not that, what are you so worried about, then?”

“It’s-” Thomas groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Nothing. It’s just too much to say.”

Jeremy hummed. “Well, is there any specific kid you’re worried about? So I can help, I mean.”

Thomas peeked out at Jeremy through his fingers. Jeremy smiled winningly. Thomas sighed and dropped his hands to the table. “I don’t know. Just… All of them, I suppose. They’re… They’re good kids, Jeremy. I’m worried about all of them. They’re worried too.”

“How can you tell? Shouldn’t they want to see their parents and stuff?”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s more complicated than that.” He thought back to last night. How their faces had fallen--or become guarded. His mind kept wandering back to Virgil’s. How his face had just crumpled. “They’re worried too. They have it worse than I do, really, and I just worry about them. I mean, you should have seen Vir-” Thomas caught himself. He shouldn’t be talking about the kids like this.

He barely knew Jeremy.

“Sorry, I…” He trailed off. “Too much information. Let’s just say that I’m worried about a lot of things.”

There was a moment of quiet between the two. The hustle and bustle of the rest of the coffee shop and its patrons filling the emptiness as Jeremy watched Thomas. Once again, Thomas wasn’t quite sure what to make of the moment, or of Jeremy’s expression. Thankfully, the lull in the conversation didn’t last very long.

“You know what you need?” Jeremy pushed himself up from his chair, not waiting for a response. “A refill. On the house.”

Thomas started to protest, but Jeremy had already disappeared with Thomas’s mug in hand. Thomas sighed. Realistically, more caffeine would only make him more anxious.

But who was he to say no?

\----

** Middle of April, 2017 **

_Elliott had a broad smile on their face as they walked up the driveway of the Williams’ residence. Virgil’s house._

_They hadn’t called or texted before, but Virgil’s parents’ car was sitting in the driveway, so they weren’t worried about their friend not being home. Virgil was almost always home anyway, even when his parents were out._

_And Elliott had some news to share._

_Their dad had just given them permission to invite Virgil on their summer vacation at the end of next month._

_Virgil would probably hate the beach, but Elliott knew that most of that would be performance to keep up his emo persona. Elliott smiled to themself at the thought of their best friend scowling from under an umbrella in the middle of a sunny Florida beach._

_It was going to be great._

_As Elliott approached the door, they began to hear the commotion coming from inside the house._

_It sounded as though some comically dramatic argument were taking place in the hallway right behind the front door. Elliott reached up their hand to knock on the door before they hesitated._

_There was a crash from inside. And then another._

_Elliott tried the doorknob._

_The front door swung open easily._

_Just down the hall, Elliott could see the opening to Virgil’s family’s living room, which they had only been in a handful of times._

_Virgil was standing by the wall on Elliott’s left side, hunched over into his hoodie and shaking slightly. His face was hidden from Elliott’s view. Their stomach sunk, filling up with dread._

_They had a feeling that they knew what was going on here before they could even take in the rest of the scene._

_Probably because they had been suspecting something like this for longer than they wanted to admit._

_Virgil’s mother stood on the other side of the room, a glass cup in her hand. She looked angry. No, furious. She was yelling about something, but Elliott’s ears were ringing too loudly for them to really understand what she was saying._

_And then she threw the glass. It slammed against the wall, shattering with a crash just like the one that Elliott had heard before they opened the door just inches to the side of Virgil’s head._

_The broken glass fell to the ground, landing with too-soft-for-the-situation clinks by the other shards surrounding Virgil’s feet._

_Elliott sucked in a gasp. It felt like their first breath since they had entered the house._

_Virgil turned to face them, and Elliott finally got a good look at their best friend’s face._

_And the oozing cut running along his left cheekbone._

_Elliott took a shaky step back, and then made the worst decision of their nearly thirteen year old life._

_They turned and sprinted out of the Williams’ house, down the front steps and down the driveway. They ran down the street, their blood roaring in their ears and their heart beating in their throat. Tears that they hadn’t known that they were crying burned tracks down their face. Their hand was clamped over their mouth, fear that they could make a noise, that what they had just seen was real, making them bite their palm._

_They looked behind them as they reached their own driveway._

_As if Mrs. Williams would have followed them. As if they were in any danger. As if she would have run after them instead of what she must have done since she was nowhere to be seen--turned her rage tenfold back onto their best friend._

_Virgil. Who Elliott had just left alone._

_Elliott’s lungs burned with the exertion of their run. They fumbled for their pocket, searching desperately for their phone. They had to do something. They hadn’t even tried to help Virgil. They had run. Like a coward._

_But they could still do something._

_Elliott typed in the number that they had had memorized for all their life. They were only twelve. Their mom would know what to do._

\----

The morning sun was bright. The birds outside were singing. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The instant muffins that Thomas had gotten up early to make had been surprisingly good, even though the boys had only really picked at them. The morning could have been perfect, had it not been for the impending storm on the forecast that was visitation day.

Thomas had been up since before the sun. He wasn’t even sure that he could describe it as waking up early rather than not sleeping at all. He had been quiet in his own anxieties, determined not to wake the six boys that were likely having just as troubled of a sleep as he had.

Even when the boys had awoken--one after the other, filing into the kitchen as though they had all been lying awake waiting for someone else to make the first move, waiting for someone else to start the day--the house had been quiet. Everything and everyone was subdued. Even Remus had been eerily quiet. Roman was quite possibly the only one who looked even a little bit excited for the day, though he seemed to be following the others’ leads and kept it down.

Thomas hated it.

He missed the crazy noise of mornings since these six boys moved in that he had already gotten used to. 

He had finally had to break the unspoken rule of not mentioning what day it was when breakfast had finished. He tried to lighten the blow, but it was as if they knew what he was going to say as soon as he opened his mouth. They all moved to start the day without hesitation, but with obvious reluctance.

Thomas took Roman and Remus back to their room to prepare for the day. A social worker would be picking them up from the house first, and taking them to see their mother for the afternoon. It was staggeringly easy to get the twins ready to leave that morning. Far easier than any school day had been thus far. They moved in slow synchronization, going through the motions of gathering their things and brushing their teeth. It made Thomas’s heart ache to see the two who were usually so full of energy so lackluster.

Once the twins were ready, the rest of the morning passed in a muted blur. Patton, Dee and Logan took care of themselves. Patton was still smiling, putting up a front for the younger children, even though he and Thomas had already spoken about that. 

Thomas didn’t feel the need to bring it up again, though. Not today. 

Dee and Logan got ready, even though everyone knew that they and Patton would only be visited by social workers that day. Dee didn’t even seem to have his usual disdain about him.

Thomas had already seen Roman and Remus off before he saw Virgil again.

Virgil was sitting at the kitchen bar, just a few steps from the front door. He was ready to go. Thomas wasn’t sure if it was because he was looking forward to it, though. He didn’t know everything about Virgil yet, but he was relatively sure that his preparation was more out of want for this whole day to be over with than it was out of excitement.

Thomas could agree with that.

Virgil was leaning against the countertop, wearing a gray and black checkered hoodie that Thomas had never seen before. It was enough to make Thomas pause. Virgil always wore his black and purple patched hoodie, so it was almost strange to see him in anything but.

“I can basically hear you fretting from over here.”

Thomas blinked, stepping further into the kitchen. “I didn’t say anything?”

“I know.” Virgil shrugged. “But it’s all over your face. The twins are going to be fine. They all are. We do this stuff all the time. Still sucks, but it’s not worth worrying over.”

Thomas frowned. “Don’t you-”

“Yeah, I do have anxiety, what of it?” Virgil was looking at his fingernails now, picking halfheartedly at a cuticle. 

Thomas huffed a laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m allowed to worry about you guys, though. It’s my job.” Virgil raised an eyebrow at that, and Thomas continued before he could interject with a sarcastic comment. “Even if you guys do this all the time, I never have. It’s all new for me.”

Virgil nodded his head, conceding that point. “Yeah, I guess. But, I mean, the twins are already gone now, so I’m the only one still seeing family. The only thing you should even maybe worry about is Dee living under the delusion that his dad is going to show up to see him today.”

Thomas blinked. He didn’t have time to unpack _that_. He decided to change the subject a bit instead. “I… right. Uh… So your brother is coming today?”

Virgil looked away but nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t even have time to, because just then the doorbell rang.

Thomas turned and made his way back over to the front door, his stomach squirming uncomfortably with an odd sense of foreboding. Virgil pushed himself to his feet, following closely behind Thomas. Thomas reached for the doorknob and the door swung open to reveal the stern woman that had first dropped Virgil off at his house and a man in a leather jacket and sunglasses leaning against the post at the top of Thomas’s front steps.

“Hey, Virgil.” The man spoke before Thomas could even register what he was seeing. Thomas’s heart stopped in his chest. The man flipped his sunglasses up to rest atop his deep brown hair.

Thomas froze, his hand tightening around the doorknob. He felt like he was going to pass out, staring at Virgil’s social worker and brother standing on his doorstep.

“Hi, Remy.” Virgil grumbled from behind Thomas.

 _Jeremy_.


	3. Don't Have to be Anybody You Can Never Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: tumultuous family relationships, anxiety, mentioned past child abuse, guilt

**August 2017**

_Virgil hated the foster care system almost as much as he hated his own parents._

_Everything was different. It had only been a couple of months since he had been placed in the system. In that time, it felt like he hadn’t even slept once._

_He was living with people that he didn’t know. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know what food he liked, or when he liked to go to sleep, or what he did for fun._

_To be fair, Virgil was pretty sure that his biological parents hadn’t known those things either, but it was the principle of the thing. His foster family was nice enough… for now. But it wasn’t exactly like being a foster kid got the greatest rep in the media, and Virgil always felt like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop._

_Waiting for one of them to yell at him for dropping a glass. Waiting for them to get tired of him moping around and send him back to look for another family, one who wasn’t so forgiving about his adjustment period._

_He could already tell that the foster family he was with now didn’t like him. It was like a little voice in the back of his head, pointing it out every time there was a new sign. It set him on edge._

_So if he spent his extra time with his ears and eyes open, laying on the bed that he had been offered and staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling above him and waiting for them to say or do something that would confirm his suspicions that he was absolutely unwanted, it was only natural._

_“I just feel sorry for the kid, Max.” Virgil’s current foster mother spoke from the kitchen just underneath the room that Virgil was staying in. Thankfully… or unthankfully, the walls and floors in the house were thin._

_“I know you do, Jane, but we can’t constantly treat him with kid gloves.”_

_“He is a kid, Maxie.”_

_“He’s almost thirteen. Yes, his parents were awful, and I sympathize with that, but now that we’ve taken him in, we have to stop acting like he’s the poor kid on the news and treat him like a member of this household.”_

_“But it was awful what happened to him! His parents… His parents were sent to prison, Maxie. That does things to a kid. They…” She faltered around the word, lowering her voice to whisper it as though it were a swear word, but Virgil’s mind filled in the gaps. “-abused him. And his brother-”_

_“His deadbeat brother wouldn’t take him in, I know.”_

_Virgil tensed. An awful taste rose in his mouth. He hated it when people spoke about his brother like that. An urge to defend Remy bloomed in his chest, but he tamped it down forcefully. He wasn’t even supposed to be listening. He would just get himself into trouble._

_Virgil rolled over, turning to face the wall. He pulled his legs up to his chest and curled his arms around himself._

_Besides. He knew better. He knew what kind of a person Remy really was. Remy would adopt him and get him out of here before Christmas. He had practically promised._

\----

The round pebble that Virgil had been kicking in time with their walk skittered across the pathway in front of Remy. The fifteen year old looked impressively disinterested, his shoulders slumped forward in a posture that made Remy cringe, one hand in a pocket of his hoodie, and the other holding the iced coffee that Remy had bought for him earlier. The cup was mostly empty, with just a bit of black coffee and quickly melting ice sitting at the bottom, covering the plastic cup in beads of cold condensation. Virgil had the sleeve of his black hoodie pulled over the palm wrapped around the cup to keep his hand from getting wet.

Remy looked down at his own cup, wrapped perfectly in a napkin so that he could avoid the same problem without pulling on his leather jacket like an idiot.

Not that Virgil was an idiot. Not that Remy would _ever_ say that. Not anymore, anyway.

“So,” Remy drew out the word, waffling for something to say that he hadn’t already said since picking Virgil up at the door, “how’s it been?”

Virgil rolled his eyes comically hard. “Since the last time you asked? Alright, I guess. Except there’s this really annoying guy bothering me.”

“Haha.” Remy deadpanned. “I’m serious, V. You keep avoiding the question. You know, if you don’t like that guy, you just gotta tell Debbie.”

Virgil scowled. “That’s not how it works, and you know it. She’s my social worker, she doesn’t just do what I say.”

Remy shrugged. “Worth a shot, though. The guy gives me real scumbag vibes. I don’t trust him.”

Virgil bristled. “Please, you couldn’t even tell our own parents had,” Virgil pulled his second hand out of his pocket to make air quotes, “Scumbag Vibes.”

“Hm.” Remy tilted his head in recognition. “We’ve been over that before, though. This is about Sanders. You’re evading again.”

Virgil blew out a huff of a sigh. “He’s… nice.”

Remy’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Virgil had never had anything more than a dismissive word to say about any of his past guardians. But this Thomas Sanders got a ‘ _nice_ ’?

Maybe Remy should be feeling bad about scaring the guy half to death when he showed up on his doorstep that morning.

....He didn’t, though.

To be fair, the face that Thomas had made--slack jawed and pale, pretty green eyes wide with shock--was downright priceless.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. He’s feeding and housing me, isn’t he?”

Remy tensed at his little brother’s tone. Dangerous territory there. “Guess so.”

There was a moment of silence. The two brothers continued down the sidewalk before them. They had gone to the park after getting their coffees for a walk. Sometimes Remy wondered if Virgil actually hated the days where they got to see one another. There was always a tension in the air, and even though they both knew exactly where that tension was coming from, neither of them was ready and willing to poke that bear.

Even though, more often than not, they would wind up having that fight over again by the end of the day.

The pebble skipped across the concrete again. Remy held in a sigh. He pushed his sunglasses up to rest atop his head and looked over to Virgil. He eyed him up and down before speaking.

“Hey, why aren’t you wearing the jacket I made you? Does Sanders not let you wear it or something?” 

Virgil looked down at the sleeves of his own jacket. It was the black and gray checkered one that he had had since he was about eleven. Remy could see that it was beginning to get too small by now. He had seen that two years ago, when he had splurged on a nice new jacket for Virgil and spent about a week messily sewing on patches of plaid fabric in Virgil’s favorite color. He knew that it wasn’t Thomas’s fault that Virgil wasn’t wearing his purple hoodie. 

Remy hadn’t seen Virgil in that jacket since he had first gifted it to him. 

Virgil shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “What do you have against Thom- Mr. Sanders?”

Remy frowned. Virgil looked up, and Remy schooled his features into a much less hurt expression. “Nothing. I just want to know why you aren’t wearing it. Don’t read too much into things. You always do that.”

“I don’t know.” Virgil huffed. Remy had obviously struck a nerve. “Why don’t you just adopt me if you care so much?”

And there it was. The cloud that always hung over their every interaction, their every conversation. Why hadn’t Remy just adopted Virgil after their parents were sent to prison? They both knew the answer. They both knew exactly how this conversation, this argument, would play out. Remy would try to defend himself, and Virgil would bring up every hardship that he had been put through since Remy had first left for college when Virgil was seven. Remy wouldn’t be able to blame him for doing so, so he would shoot back barbs that were just as harsh about how Virgil couldn’t be grateful for what he did for him, and both would end up angry and leave without a proper goodbye.

Remy knew that Virgil was hurt and just trying to goad him. He was only fifteen. It was understandable. He knew that he should let his brother’s words roll off of him and push the conversation in a different direction.

“You know why.” He just wasn’t sure why he couldn’t actually do so. “I tried, Virgil, you know I did.”

“Not hard enough.” The teen grumbled.

Remy rolled his eyes this time, turning to face away from his brother. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s a good thing, if this Sanders guy is so ‘nice’.” Remy pitched his voice up on the final word, in a crude mockery of Virgil’s tone.

“Maybe it is.” Virgil grumbled. He sped up his pace, walking just a little bit in front of Remy.

Remy sighed, again.

If only he had anticipated that Virgil might actually like the guy.

\----

**Late April, 2017**

_Virgil was seven years old when Remy first left for college at age eighteen._

_Remy enrolled in a prestigious university as an English Major. With a passion for classic literature--and raunchy, cheesy romance novels--Jeremy S. Williams flew through his undergraduate program with ease._

_He quickly moved on to a graduate program. He wanted to go into law. Not the classic bigwig law, with corporate lawsuits and being forced to help the billionaires of the world, but environmental law. He had wanted this since before his younger brother had even been born. And he could do it easily. Sure, his parents were a bit disappointed that he wasn’t going to use his brains for a job that would get him a little bit more money, but he had breezed through college like it was nothing, and he was beyond excited to move on to his next degree._

_He was just about to finish his first year of law school when he got the call._

_Remy dropped everything at school to fly back home to see Virgil. To figure out what had happened to their parents._

_When Virgil told Remy what their parents had been like ever since Remy had first moved out for college, Remy was appalled._

_He didn’t think that he would ever forgive himself for not seeing the signs._

_He had been an adult by then. He should have known._

_At twenty four years old, Remy saw his parents go to trial._

_He fought tooth and nail for his twelve year old brother, ensuring that both of his parents got life sentences, with absolutely no chance of ever gaining custody of Virgil again._

_Remy Williams was twenty four years old when he gave up all of his scholarships and hopes of finishing his degree in favor of moving back to his hometown to be with Virgil._

_The judge ruled that Remy wasn’t financially stable enough to adopt Virgil not long after. He scrambled to get a job at a local coffee shop. His English degree went to waste, but without a law degree or even a teaching license, it was the best job that he was qualified for. And, in the eyes of the court, a stable sucky job was better than several, short term, higher paying ones._

_For the next three years, Remy moved up the ranks in the tiny coffee shop, going from cashier boy to manager._

_It still wasn’t enough._

_By then, it may never be enough._

_It had been too long. In the eyes of the court, and in the eyes of his younger brother. Yet he still saved money every chance he could, saving up in hopes that one day he would be able to adopt Virgil and get him out of the foster system for good._

_Remy was twenty seven and Virgil was fifteen when Remy figured out that his younger brother was moving in with some hot shot YouTube celebrity that was probably taking in kids as part of a publicity stunt._

_And when Remy was twenty seven and said celebrity miraculously walked into his café, he knew that he would do whatever he could to protect Virgil like he never could when he was eighteen._

\----

Virgil was curled up on the corner of the couch that afternoon, back in his purple patched hoodie and staring at the blank television.

Half of the kids still weren’t back from their check-ins, and Virgil was beginning to think that it wasn’t such a good thing. Roman and Remus were probably spending extra time with their mother, which was understandable, but hell, Logan and Patton hadn’t even had family visit them, and they were still out of the house longer than Virgil. Either those two were spectacularly messed up and needed extra long therapy sessions, or Remy just really hated Virgil.

Who could blame him, honestly?

Virgil felt sick.

There was a knock and Virgil looked up to see Thomas standing in the doorway that connected the living room to the kitchen, one hand still against the doorframe, and the other holding a platter of something that smelled delicious.

“Hey.” Thomas’s voice was soft and, somehow, soothing. Virgil felt his shoulders start to relax from where they had been hunched up around his ears. “I made cookies, if you want some.”

Virgil adjusted his position, letting his feet fall off the couch, opening himself up to Thomas. “You can cook?” He asked.

Thomas chuckled, stepping forward and sitting on the other end of the couch, just a foot or so away from Virgil. He didn’t find himself minding too much. “Pre-packaged dough. I just had to make sure that they didn’t burn.”

Virgil hummed. He could already feel a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, and for once, he really didn’t see a reason to suppress it, so he let it go. He reached out and grabbed a cookie from the edge of the platter. After Thomas had set it on the neutral ground that was the table, of course. He took a tentative nibble and nodded appreciatively. “They’re good. Pre-packaged or no.”

Thomas smiled widely. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Virgil forced himself to not think about that. To not overthink that. He was pretty sure that it had something to do with the way that Remy and Thomas had been looking at one another that morning at the door, but he didn’t want to even touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

Maybe one day. Probably tomorrow, when he let his anxiety get the better of him, and the urge to know exactly what was going on really got to him, but for now he was going to push any and all thoughts about his older brother to the back of his mind and focus instead on these cookies in front of him.

“So how was it...?” Thomas’s question was hesitant. It was pretty obvious that Virgil was the first one that he had asked, and he still wasn’t quite sure whether he should have.

Virgil shrugged. “Same as it always is. Remy was Remy and the counselors were counselors. I wouldn’t ask Dee that, though.” Dee was the only other one that had made it back yet.

Thomas nodded, but there was a grateful look in his eyes. It made Virgil… happy. He was glad to see it. “I won’t. He doesn’t seem very responsive to any questions I ask him.”

Virgil pursed his lips in resigned sympathy. “Yeah. He’s… prickly. Not a bad kid, though.” He glanced quickly at the doorway, where a flash of gray and yellow quickly pulled back and out of sight.

Virgil found himself a bit… remorseful for his and Dee’s interactions lately. The thirteen year old had been avoiding him since their argument over a week ago. It wasn’t the first time that the two of them had butted heads. They had lived together with a previous foster family, of course they had fought before. But… there was something different about the decisive way that Virgil had shut the kid down the last time.

And he was feeling guilty. Maybe it was magnified by the guilt that Virgil was currently ignoring over how he had just treated Remy, but he knew that at the core of it, he had been wrong. Yeah, Dee was an annoying, kind of manipulative, compulsive liar of a kid, but he was still a kid. And he had only been trying to talk to Virgil. 

Virgil pulled his eyes away from the doorway before it became too obvious what he was looking at and turned back to Thomas.

“I know. I know that it’s hard to trust. Especially someone like me. I don’t expect barriers to be broken down right away, and I can respect Dee’s boundaries. I hope that one day he would want to talk to me… but even if that never happens… that’s not what I’m here for, you know? I’m here to make sure that you all feel comfortable.”

Virgil was silent for a second. He didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He still didn’t really know how to wrap his head around just how understanding Thomas Sanders was.

Apparently, it was enough of a pause for Dee to take the chance to interrupt, because before Virgil could articulate anything, Dee was rounding the corner and entering the living room with a far too nonchalant look on his face.

“Hi, Dee!” Thomas smiled brightly. This time it reached his eyes. Virgil tried not to take it personally. Oddly enough, he didn’t find himself doing so.

Dee nodded silently in recognition. Part of Virgil wanted to ask why he was here if he didn’t want to even talk to anyone. He didn’t listen to that part.

“How long were you out there?” Virgil asked, a knowing tone in his voice.

Dee shot him a weak glare. Virgil could just see something behind it, though. Something that was definitely at least a little bit miffed by what Virgil had been saying before. “No.” Dee lied, weakly.

“That… isn’t an answer to that question.” Thomas observed, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“Not long, then. Geez.” Dee grumbled, pulling the sleeves of his flannel shirt over his hands in a way that was very reminiscent of Virgil with his hoodie and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Great! Then we can catch up on what we were talking about over cookies!” Thomas pushed the platter across the table a little bit. Dee eyed it warily for a moment before he caved to the smell of chocolatey goodness and grabbed one for himself and fell back into an armchair.

Virgil could feel his day brightening already. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

\----

**November 2017**

_Rain plinked against the window of the room that Virgil had been staying in, winding its way down the glass in asymmetric drips. Outside it was dreary. Misty clouds hovered over the street._

_Virgil was on the lookout for the tell tale beam of headlights coming down the street, indicating that his brother was finally there._

_Remy was finally going to give him the details of when he could adopt him today and get him out of this place._

_Suddenly, Virgil saw the bright beam of headlights heading towards the house of his foster family. He jumped up from his spot at the bay window and straightened his shirt._

_He would finally be getting out of here._

_For the first time since the trial, Virgil felt the spark of excitement rise in his chest._

_The knock on the door reverberated throughout the entire house, it seemed. Virgil tried his best to tamp down his smile, but he couldn’t help it. He was actually excited to see Remy._

_The answering of the door and boring greetings flew by in a blur for the preteen. Before he knew it, Virgil was outside with his brother. He grinned widely. “Hi, Remy!”_

_Remy smiled. Had Virgil been paying closer attention, he would have noticed just how brittle the edges of that smile were. “Hi, V.”_

_“So when are we going?” Virgil stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I know you have to sign things and talk to the counselors and therapists and stuff, but I really want to be out of here before my birthday. If we can’t do that, though, before Christmas is fine-”_

_“Virgil-”_

_“I’m not trying to be picky or ungrateful, I just really hate it here, and I missed you, and I’m tired of living like a freak in someone else’s home-”_

_“Virge-”_

_“Remy,” Virgil insisted, frustration leaking into his voice, “I’m ready to be out of here. When?”_

_“I can’t adopt you.” Remy said it with his eyes closed, as if he could avoid the consequences of his words._

_Virgil froze. There was a second of unbearably tense silence._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I can’t adopt you, Virgil. The court- The court ruled me an unsuitable guardian.”_

_“_ What? _Are you serious? But- compared to_ them- _did you even fight it? What do you mean that you’re unsuitable? What does that even mean?” Virgil could feel the familiar sharp tang of fear creeping up his spine. It couldn’t be true. Remy had to get him out of this place. He couldn’t be stuck in a place like this until he turned eighteen._

_He had promised._

_“I don’t have the financial security to take care of a teenager.” Virgil sputtered, but Remy continued, his voice steady and calm. Like he had been rehearsing it. “A job at a coffee shop that I only just started isn’t enough for them. Plus, they take into account my records, and since I dropped out of school during the trial-”_

_“You have got to be kidding me.” Virgil’s words were laced with venom. The sharp venomous bite of a threatened spider wrapped around the verbal defense against his own realized fears._

_“V-”_

_“No. I can’t believe-” Virgil scoffed, pulling away and putting some distance between himself and his older brother. “I can’t believe I actually trusted you. I can’t believe I even believed it for a second. Of course you couldn’t do it.”_

_“Virgil, I tried. Don’t say that. I gave up everything to be here, and I’m not going anywhere, I just can’t-”_

_“You can’t follow through. You can’t actually deal with me. You can’t stick around. You never could.”_

_Remy blinked, taking a half step back himself. “What do you mean by that? Virgil, I left for_ college. _It’s not like I knew-”_

_“It doesn’t matter.” Virgil clipped, closing the conversation and himself off. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. So excited. Of course Remy didn’t want him around. He never had. He was so unbelievably idiotic to ever even think that he could catch a break for even one second. Virgil stepped back again. “I don’t care anymore.”_

_He was just about to turn and head back to the house when Remy stepped forward, an almost desperate look on his face as he reached out._

_“Wait-” Virgil paused. Remy breathed a soft sigh of relief and turned back to the car that he had arrived in, reaching in the open back window. “Just wait a second, V. I got something for you.”_

_Virgil watched with wary eyes as Remy pulled something out of the car and held it out expectantly. It was only when Remy nodded to it that the younger finally acquiesced and stepped forward to grab it._

_“It’s a hoodie.” Remy said, pointing out the obvious._

_Virgil held the garment out before him, taking in the sloppily hand-stitched patches covering the soft black material. It had a sort of edginess to it. It was the sort of thing that a teenager would wear. Or someone from one of the bands that Virgil adored._

_“I made it.” Remy continued, obviously trying to coax a response out of Virgil._

_Emotions warred in Virgil’s mind. Disappointment. Anger. Resentment. Heartbreak. Regret. Hurt. Gratefulness._

_Virgil balled up the hoodie in his hands and stuffed it under his arm. Sadly, the gratefulness was only the small flicker of a candle against a hurricane. “Whatever.” Virgil’s voice was cold. A complete void of passion. He turned on his heel and this time made it all the way back to the house without stopping. The door slammed behind him, but there was a complete lack of fear over what his foster parents would say about it._

_It was only once Virgil was behind the closed door of what he guessed was now his room for the foreseeable future that he let himself slip the jacket over his shoulders and cry._

\----

“So, did you know?”

Thomas’s hands were curled around a warm mug of vanilla latte, his feet tucked carefully underneath the café chair. Remy sat across from him with a carefully schooled look on his face that could only be mastered by a man who was truly frightened.

Thomas had showed up to the coffee shop early that morning--before opening hours, even. When Remy had pulled up ten minutes later with the keys to the shop, there had been a bit of a standoff. Remy had frozen, halfway out of his car, his hands still on the door, watching Thomas, who was sitting at one of the outside tables just beside the door. The tension was only broken by Thomas waving the younger man over.

Once they were both inside, Remy had opened up the shop in silence. Thomas had watched silently as he went through the motions of restocking the refrigerator and starting up the coffee machines. He had been pleasantly surprised when Remy finally made his way over to the new table that Thomas had chosen with a latte and slipped into the chair across from him, leading to this moment, where Remy was still watching him warily.

“It was pretty hard not to. You aren’t exactly a nobody.”

Thomas nodded in recognition. He had a point. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would you have?” Remy glanced over his shoulder at the door, as if they didn’t both know that the coffee shop still was not technically open for business, and they were the only two people there. “Had you been in my place, would you have told you that you knew who you were?”

Thomas blinked. “Huh?”

Remy sighed and leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. “Look, babes.” The two of them grimaced at the nickname. Too weird for right then. “Sorry. Force of habit. _Thomas_ ,” He grit the word out as though it were something terrible. Thomas didn’t know whether that was because he was so used to using pet names, or if it was reflective of his actual feelings towards Thomas. “I didn’t tell you because… I wanted to get to know you.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. If Remy had wanted to get to know him so much, why had he used a fake name? He decided to voice that thought. “If you wanted to get to know me, then why did you not tell me your real name?”

Remy held up a finger. “Hah. See, technically, I did tell you my real name. Technically speaking, I told you a more real name than I tell anyone else.”

“You know what I mean.” Thomas responded. This was beginning to feel like a circular interrogation, and he really didn’t want that. Like it or not, Remy was Virgil’s family, and Thomas was not going to stand in the way of that.

Not if Remy had good intentions, at least.

“I didn’t lie.” Remy insisted.

“Lie of omission.” Thomas said, fatigue weighing on his voice. “Look, Remy--can I call you Remy?” Remy nodded, and Thomas continued. “Look, Remy, I just want to know why you were… sneaking around. What did you want from this?”

Remy’s eyes were pointed downwards. Coffee brown swirls staring pensively into Thomas’s latte. He tapped in a staccato rhythm on the table. Thomas matched the rhythm with the anxious tap of his foot against the floor. 

After a moment’s pause, Remy spoke up. “I can’t gain custody of Virgil.” Thomas’s eyebrows drew together in a question, but he didn’t voice it aloud. He wanted to let Remy finish. “I couldn’t before, when he was twelve, and I still can’t now. Probably never will be able to. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for that. But… I am still a part of his life. And I… worry about him. He’s my little brother, you know? I care about him more than anything else. So I check up on him. More than I can actually check up on him. I check out all of his new foster families. I mean, they don’t usually walk into my shop on their own, of course, that was a new one, but I know who they are. I make sure they’re treating him right. If anyone treated him like our parents did ever again-”

Thomas reached out before he could think and placed a hand over Remy’s. Remy paused, but continued, backtracking out of his tangent.

“So… yeah. I just keep tabs. It’s the most I can do from here. He doesn’t know. If he did, he’d probably never talk to me again. Little bugger is stubborn enough.”

Thomas huffed a light laugh. “Yeah, he is.”

Neither one of them moved their hand.

“If it makes you feel better,” Remy shrugged with one shoulder, a cocky half smile returning to his lips, “I guess you pass the check, Sanders. Good home. Got enough time to take care of him. You’re not a total asshat,” Thomas chuckled more fully that time, “and you apparently aren’t using all of this for some publicity stunt.”

“Why is it that both of you thought that?” Thomas asked, exasperatedly.

Remy shrugged, but he was very obviously hiding a smile. “I don’t know. But I know that he likes you, at least.”

“He does…?” It slipped out before Thomas could stop it, his own insecurities slipping so easily through the cracks. Luckily he was in good company. Yeah, his opinion switched fast, but what could he say? Thomas Sanders was a sucker for a good heart warming sob story.

“Yep.” Remy pulled his hand back and slipped out from the chair. He had to get to work. He turned around and made his way over to the counter. It was like both he and Thomas knew that it was all good now, without having to actually say so. Once he was behind the counter again, Remy grabbed for his apron and hat and began to pull them on. He was still tying the strings of the apron when he turned back to Thomas, who was still sitting in the same spot, nursing his latte. “And, you know, I don’t really think you’re so bad myself, sweetheart.”

Thomas smiled around the lip of his mug.


End file.
